Negative Void
by SweetCarnation
Summary: The Sultan's wife's disappeared! As much as he tries to deny it, a tiny part of Edward drives him on to find her, no matter how much he hated his own spouse, or women in general. But a certain unwanted criminal makes his appearance and threatens the Sultana. Is she going to meet her end at his hands, or at Edward's if he finds her on time? Sheherazade AU.


**A/N: Hello people! It's been a while since I posted something, so here's to satisfy your appetite in EdWinf fluffies :3**

**This was hugely inspired by EricKeyblade's _Figure of Sheherazade, _and I guess this sparked my own imagination (though I do wish the story was updated, it's been 5 years now :/)  
Feel free to point out any mistakes or awkward wording and remember, FMA will never be mine (*sobs in a corner*)**

**Enjoy, fluffies :)**

* * *

"Dammit, where is she?" he growled.

He ran down the stairs, mindless of the many maids and servants side-stepping or bowing down to him before quickening their pace to avoid his almost snarling face. Edward's face was contorted into a tight expression, molten eyes were burning vividly, part with seething rage, part with, something tugging painfully in his chest.

He ran his left hand through golden tresses, pulling them back roughly from his face. A snarl formed on his face. As soon as he had his hands on that _wench, _he'd–

_Truth be damned, where _is _she?_

He had woken up this morning, his automail arm burning into his flesh. Unable to go back to sleep, he had turned on his side, on the edge of asking her to fix his automail when he realized she wasn't _fucking _there.

He could see the depression her body had left, and the sheets were still warm, proof that she had left not too long ago. Yet, still sleepy and frustrated by the pain coursing from his right shoulder straight to his brain and down to his spine, Edward paid no mind to her absence.

It took him a few minutes before the sun rose and its orange harsh light ripped him from his slumber, leaving him dazed. Once his brain registered that he was alone in the bed, Edward sprung to life, wrapping clumsily his robes around him with his left and a snarl already tugging at his lips.

He slammed the door open, probably waking everyone on the floor, before he stomped down the stairs, ready to drag back that wench by the hair up to his room to ask her just _what the hell she was doing out in the middle of the fucking night._

His anger clouded what he refused to call worry. Edward knew that he didn't trust her and the feeling was equal for her, yet he still couldn't help but have a tiny part of his mind growing intent and pushing him to just find her and be sure she was safe.

As much as he hated to admit it, the girl wasn't that bad, yet it wasn't as if he would _ever _admit she could potentially be trusted.

After all, women were women.

"_Fucking backstabbers_," he spat disgustedly.

Edward decided to only check out the garden, just in case the accident was repeated there.

It was bathed in bright lights and many great arched openings lead to a maze of hallways. Golden paint decorated paths from the openings to the middle, where a fountain spewed crystalline turquoise water. The many bushes and pots of exotic plants lying around gave the impression there were gardens inside a garden.

He walked around, keeping an eye out for lemon hair or the swish of creamy clothes. On his round, Edward half-expected to find her there, smooching with some damn two-legged testosterone driven dick behind growing bushes or the pillars of the openings, but it didn't surprise him as much as he thought to find the place empty, save for some tweeting birds by the fountain.

He should have known.

_When you look for something, you find it in the least expected spot._

Leaving the place by the corridor across the one he came from, Eward refused to admit the tug at his heart was growing abnormally fast. It was as if it grew hands, crawling under his skin and squeezing his heart out. Were it any other situation, Edward would have mentally berated himself for letting puny feelings push him to do this, yet this wasn't any other situation.

His automail arm was sending hot bolts of pain up his shoulder and brain. He half-wanted to crash down somewhere and curse the bastard who thought it was a good idea to get automail when there weren't _any fucking _potent mechanic in the whole country (even though that bastard was no one but Edward himself) and half-wanted to find the wench so he could be done with her.

Knowing perfectly his first option wouldn't get him anywhere, Edward resolved to find the girl, and then he'd–

He broke his train of thought, sitting down on some stairs and focusing on where the girl could be. The only place she could have gone to without anyone's help was the garden, and she wasn't there, meaning either she was lost, or she had followed someone willingly.

The first option was very improbable, deemed Edward. The broad had brains, and as up to that morning, she never went out of his room on her own. Meals were brought to her and her friend, and from the reports of the guards, she never left the confine of his room.

Besides, when she _did _leave, it was because he had requested her presence or that she had to go to the restroom. Yet even in those cases, she was accompanied and carefully guarded.

She may have been a simple girl out of the many he married out of spite and bitterness, but she was still the Sultana, and he knew no place would be safer than his room, which she almost never left.

_Until this fucking morning._

Edward groaned, dropping his face in his hands, the metal of his automail cool and fresh against his heated skin. He wondered why he was fussing so much over a fucking girl who wouldn't see the dawn of the following morning when he finds her. She was so much more trouble for nothing, but wasn't that the case of all women?

Acting like they were all weak and adorable, cooing and fussing all over you, cuddling into you when you were down, weaving their hands and fingers into the delicate threads of your heart, and yet, sneaking off with the nearest dick on legs they deemed more worthy, wealthy, more _fucking _normal, leaving you and your automail limbs behind in the dust, your heart crushed into dust as she grounded the tiny pieces left of you, leaving only bitterness and a whole fucking world of hurt.

Edward grunted, his fingers digging into his scalp and golden hair, tugging the strands out of their customary braid. He was starting to get very annoyed with himself, a sneaky voice in the back of his minds whispering coldly, drawling out every single word amusedly, "_Fight as you might, she won't leave your mind. You're bound to tell me, say that you worr–"_

"Shut up!" he hissed lowly, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying sound. He really needed to find the broad, or else his mind would never let him live in peace.

_Fuck! As if I needed that on top of everything else._

"Your Majesty."

Edward scowled and turned back, meeting Vizier Mustang's non plussed face, the corner of his lips slightly quirked upwards.

Vizier Mustang spoke, "It is an uncanny sight to see His Majesty up so early."

"That is none of your business, Vizier," Edward answered lowly, drawing a leg up to his chest, the other dangling on the stair case. To his frustration, Vizier Mustang smirked, arrogance tinting his next words. "Oh, I believe it is. Judging by the look in your eyes, it must be something about your current wife."

The jab worked, and Edward stood up, rage clouding his mind as he choked on words. He pointed a finger to his vizier. "You– Don't you _dare–!_"

Sighing, Vizier Mustang turned back on his heels, back facing the mad Sultan. "I recommend you fix whatever is troubling you, Majesty. We need your full attention if we want to catch Barry before another woman falls prey to him."

Edward huffed, crossing his arms yet not forgiving the bold words Vizier Mustang had told him. That man ought to have more respect for him. If it had been anyone else daring to voice out those insinuations, they'd have been long gone, six feet underneath. "I am aware of this–"

"That is not all, Majesty," Vizier Mustang cut coldly and firmly. Edward's rebuttal died on the tip of tongue, and listened intently to what important news Vizier Mustang brought.

"I highly suspect that a week ago, Barry penetrated this very castle."

* * *

She moaned, and her eyelids fluttered gently before she opened her eyes, crystal clear blue weary and heavy with lingering sleepiness. She looked around, but found her vision went as far as the nearest lit torch, a good fifteen feet in front of her.

Pale sunshine hair fell in her eyes, and Winry tried to bring a hand to brush the strands away, yet she heard metallic clicking sounds, like soft bells chiming above her head. She looked up and found both her hands bound in thick metal chains hanging from the wooden ceiling.

Panic began settling inside of her as she wondered exactly where she had landed. Winry looked around once more, her sight obstructed by many stacks of food and jugs, chests and old suits of armor, dagues and various other blades hanging on walls and some cannons carefully tucked in the corner of the room. The place was cluttered, and there was not much free floor to walk on.

When she tried to speak, she found her lips unable to close. There was a rough material wrapped around her mouth, gagging her. Only muffled sounds could be heard from her. Once more, panic spread, from her finger tips to her toes. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

Another part of her was hurting and caught her attention. Her wrists were bruised and Winry found that the chains were abrasive, biting into her skin. It was the same for her ankles, bound by a pair of shackles.

"Oh my. You're up already. How inconvenient," a masculine, yet feminine, voice lamented from behind, coming near. Winry turned to the source of the voice, and the maid from earlier was there, a half-from, half-smile on her countenance. She wore an apron over her lime green robes.

The girl's right arm was hiding behind her while her left tugged at her brownish hair, taking the mane off before Winry could speak. "I'm sorry, do I confuse you?" she, _he, _corrected Winry, said.

The man came to stand in front of her. "I am the humble butcher, Barry, but people know me better as Barry the Chopper, little lady." He threw the wig away, trailing a bony finger on Winry's cheek. She shuddered as cold chills crawled in her spine, and she faced away from Barry.

He frowned. "Don't treat me so coldly, little lady or I don't think you're going to appreciate what I do to your friend here."

He walked behind a stack of foot, dragging what sounded like heavy chains. Finally, he brought forth a dark-skinned girl, jet hair pulled back in a short ponytail and dark blue eyes wide with fear.

She was gagged as well, but the shackles were missing, since–

"You took off her automail!" was what Winry wanted to exclaim. It came as 'Ou oof oof ha aufomaimf!'

Barry bound the chains to the wall and came before Winry again. He raised his right arm, revealing a sharp knife and dropped it down. It cut the gag around her mouth, but also nicked the tip of her chin. Barry smiled shakily. "Oops."

Now, panic was overruled by fear. Cold pale hands squeezed her heart and blood froze. Her legs were beginning to shake as well. "Why are you doing this?" Winry questioned softly to not surprise the madman.

He seemed truly thrown off guard. Pacing around he began a soliloquy about his love of killing. She wasn't hearing any of it. Winry tried to find Paninya's automail legs. The girl was more afraid for her friend than herself, since if Barry were to become violent, at least Winry could kick him in the unmentionables.

"The other four were boring, they screamed and yelled and begged for their life. But this one," droned on Barry, pointing at Paninya, who only had eyes either for Winry or the sharp gleaming blade, "and you were quite feisty, little lady."

"Now who should I cut up first?" he muttered under his breath. The wait was a silent torture for both girls. They tugged at their restraints, yet found it was no use, only scrapping their wrists and energy.

Mulling, Barry hummed a little. He looked at each girl, pondering, but his sight rested on Paninya for a painfully long second more than on Winry.

The girls realized in horror his decision was made.

Barry turned to Paninya, a mad grin on his face. "It's your lucky day, I'd say! I've never chopped someone with automail before, so be proud, little miss."

Paninya began yelling and whimpering, screams muffled by the gag. She trashed around, kicking her legs around even though she had _no _legs anymore. She moved and wiggled as her life depended on it. Winy's mind was blank, and she wanted so desperately to reach out, to take Paninya's place and pain, and before long, she had mindlessly yelled, "Cut me _first!"_

The tension arising was so thick it suffocated her. Blood flushed from both girls' face, leaving them dreadfully white. Barry seemed unaffected. He bore his purple eyes straight into Winry's, and she gulped at the light gleaming in his disturbed orbs.

"Oh, little lady," he sighed contentedly, turning his back on Paninya. Winry hated how chilly Barry's voice had become, knowing nothing good was waiting. He poked her ribs with his bony fingers and brushed some of her straw hair across her face, fingertips brushing her neck.

He brought his face near her, and Winry swore the definition to madness itself was Barry's deranged attitude. The man sneered at her cheekily. "You make me happy, you know," he whispered.

Winry met his words with cold, hard eyes. There was no way she'd show him her fear. Not until Paninya was safe. "How come?" she challenged.

She didn't expect him to plant the edge of his knife in her left shoulder as an answer.

Winry didn't scream and Paninya stayed silent, horrified tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, watching her friend take with stride the madness of a serial killer.

"A little less meaty than usual, but pretty gutsy you are, little lady," finally spoke Barry. "Please, do make me happy and run around. It's much more entertaining to catch your prey before you slice their throat, no?"

He cut Winry's chains, but left her shackles. Barry pushed the girl to ground and turned to her friend. "I hope you enjoy the spectacle, little miss. Your turn is next, but there will be no audience, unfortunately."

After he was done talking, Barry took off. With frightening speed, he caught up to Winry, watching her lemon hair swishing behind her and following the freckles of red on the floor.

"Run, little lady, run," he laughed. He watched as she tripped on a jug, and he turned her back on her back before sitting on her stomach, straddling her. He held her hands above her head, her face giving away her fear. No matter how much she hid it, she was scared to death.

"Booh," he deplored in a rueful tone. "You're no fun if you get caught this quickly, little lady. Run around for a little more, mmh?" He smiled chillingly at the end of his sentence. He kissed her forehead and lifted himself off her. She stood and ran off again, and Barry counted to ten before taking off again.

After all, he didn't want the game to end too quickly, did he?

Winry rushed as fast as she could. Her mind was blank, too blank, and totally empty. Her body was acting on its own and told her to run for her life. Her heart was pumping faster than ever, her feet and hands were icy cold, heat was creeping up on her face and she felt like she was choking on air _and _lacking oxygen.

–couldn't cry, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but run, run, run for her life, for Paninya, away from Barry, away from the knife, away from death–

She held her aching shoulder and mechanically dodged a pile of– she didn't know what it was, it was in her way, that's all she cared about.

–slammed into a wall, unable to stop at the right time, was picking herself up again and running, rushing, sprinting away, fast, faster, so much was choking on inconsistent oxygen, almost swallowed her tongue so hard was breathing–

She refused to blink, even for a second, for a heartbeat, because if she did, then he'd catch her, and like those women he talked about earlier, Paninya and she–

Mechanically, she turned right, left, left again, wondering just how big this maze was, totally ignorant of a door creaking and opening and light filtering the floor in front of her. How she would get her and Paninya safely away from him, from his knife, from death, from–

She slammed into someone.

She knew it was him, and she stepped back, ready to rush away again when two hands caught her arms in a painful hold, and she just screeched to "Let go! Let GO! LET GO!" and she knew he wasn't letting go and she'd die right here now and Paninya would be next and–

She was pulled to his chest and she struggled until footsteps stopped abruptly and she realized the chest was too broad to be Barry's and it was someone else's.

Winry looked up to find swirling hard molten eyes returning her gaze. Her brain was turned off and she couldn't make out a single smart thought. The man grabbed her forearm, more gently than before, and tugging her behind him he muttered lowly, "Come on."

She resisted. "Paninya," she choked out. The man stared at her, mouth set into a tight, grim line, and Winry repeated, "Back there… Paninya… she–"

Unable to continue, Winry swiveled around, dragging the man who hadn't yet let go of her forearm. She led him through the stacks, following the traces of her own blood, and when she finally found Paninya, Winry rushed to her friend, hugging her tightly.

The shock prevented her from weeping, but it made her hands shake so badly Winry could barely make out how to untie the gag around Paninya's mouth. She felt herself pushed to the side, the man with golden eyes and equally golden hair untying the cloth.

He clapped his hands and put them on the ground. A light blue flash followed, blinding her and Winry noted dully that the shackles and chains fell. She wanted to reach out and carry Paninya, but the man beat her to it, already securing the girl's arms around his neck and his hands just above her automail ports.

He stood, making a sign with his head for her to do so. Winry made a vague movement with her hands, "Her automail…" she trailed off. He gritted his teeth and started walking, Winry following him. "Later," he simply commented.

* * *

After dropping Paninya off to her own room, Edward led Winry back to his own. She was awfully quiet, and he didn't feel like asking questions. He was tired enough.

He sat down on his bed, facing the window. It was around noon, but Edward felt like it was already evening. He turned around, sitting cross-legged, and untied the fabric around his waist.

"Face this way," he commanded Winry in a voice that left no place for rebuttal. She did, and he ground his teeth at the sight of blood-stained material of her robes. He reached out a hand, gently peeling the cloth of her injured shoulder and wrapped the tissue around it, making sure it was not too tight or too loose.

"What happened to Barry?" she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. Edward frowned. This didn't sound at all like the woman he had married days before. Winry sounded exhausted, like someone sapped her of her energy.

If it was any other day, she'd be screaming his head off, Sultan or no.

"I bound him. Vizier Mustang should be taking care of him now." In other words, 'he'll be executed.'

After he was done with her injury, he said, "What happened there?"

She didn't answer him right away. Instead, her shoulders began shaking and she tilted her head down, hiding her eyes with her hair. Edward knew better; she was crying.

_Just this once…_

He put a hand on her healthy shoulder.

_Just this once I think…_

His hand traveled all the way across her back to her other shoulder. His fingers dug gently into it and he pulled her so her forehead lay on his collarbone.

_Just this once I think I can make an exception._

She cried on him.

For long minutes, all he could hear was the sound of her sobs, her whole form quivering with their intensity. For once, Edward's mind was carefully blank, and no acid and witty remarks were ready to roll on the tip of his tongue. He stayed silent and still, waiting for his wife to empty her tears first.

When she was done, she spoke with a damp voice. He listened to her story. She woke up in the morning to get something for his aching automail. On her way, she met Paninya, who was trying to comfort a crying maid. The girls followed her down to the cave where both were knocked out. They woke up chained and when Barry threatened to hurt Paninya, WInry asked to take her place. Barry unchained her, wanting to play a game of mouse and cat, and Edward arrived just as she was running. The rest he knew.

He didn't comment her misfortune. In a low voice lacking any sarcasm, he told Winry, "Go to bed."

She lied on the mattress on her right side, quickly falling asleep. As he watched her chest rise and fall, Edward unwillingly admitted something to himself.

_Fight as I might, she didn't leave my mind. I'm bound to tell one, say that,_

"I was worried."

* * *

**There you have it. Please tell me what you think of the vocabulary, 'cus I feel it's very limited, thaks to my restricted English literature consisting of only fanfictions :P**


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